Do Predacons Dream of Robotic Sheep
by tremor3258
Summary: G1. Razorclaw's discusses why he's been having trouble sleeping.


Do Predacons Dream of Robotic Sheep?  


by Tremor3258  


Inspired, in no small part, by the MirrorVerse fanfic (evil Autobots, good Decepticons) tale of Preadking entitled Predaking "Reflections of a 'king" by Kayveecee at the Padded Cell message board.  
  


I am balance. The epitome of Decepticon design. The calm waiting of a hunter, with the ravenous hunger of a berserker. Shockwave plus Megatron. Distilled power. These Earth forms, in many respects, while limiting, reveal us in far more ways than they hide. Woe to any fool who doubts what I am. I am Razorclaw. I am death in patient waiting. But, I must wait here and hope for prey in this small canyon. For we are not ready to seize what will one day be ours.  
  


And yes, I hid myself today. I did not growl as when the orders came, this horrible slight. A mere ambush is unfitting sport for us. But dismay now gives away the game too soon. Megatron will never see it coming, but every slight will be recompensed in full. This I swear to that which lies at great Cybertron's, my hunting grounds, core.  
  


Now I must pay attention. A flavor comes over the wind. Slight, but growing. The smell of high-grade energon exhaust, along with the tang of greases. Autobot tastes. My troops begin to stir in excitement, as their urges will be played out today, but I silence them. We will take them out quickly, and once again, in all ways, demonstrate our worth.  
  


Then the pounding begins. Few Autobots are so heavy to set up these rumblings. Hope stirs my energon pump. Perhaps Ultra Magnus, or even Optimus will fall to our claws, fangs, and guns. But then, carried in the faintest whisper over the wind, comes Divebomb's report. They are not the red or blue of a leader, but grey and gold, and they are five. The vaunted and much spoken-of Dinobots are bumbling their incautious and inefficient way into our trap.  
  


Yet, despite their oft-mentioned stupidity, one must be wary. They are bigger than we are, and though their colors may not be the noble hues of our own, there is a ruthless efficiency to them. Grey, the flat metallic color of alloys. Simply stated as a dare to any attack. Gold. Humans, in their scurrying way, see it as a sign of power. This is one of the few areas we are in agreement on. But gold, to my standards, means collection arrays and high-efficiency conductors. They are powered by the elements they claim to protect, as well as what lies inside them. It is an impressive attempt, but they will fail today where they have harried for so long. And the first leap that ends in the Decepticon throne will begin.  
  


They come. Large, cackling among themselves. Believing themselves above all attack. They are the Autobot's savages, designed after primitives, and striving to uphold that tradition. It is time to show them true savagery.   
  


We attack. I leap, transforming as I fall, going for the leader. A spark of intelligence is in his eyes, noticeable to one such as I, and this mighty T-Rex must fall soon, to prevent any attempt at rescue. Fire leaps up at us, but mere flames do not frighten these beasts. We welcome this return to the forge. I slash out with the extension of the fury I repress for so long for these moments. Energo-sword bites into armor, and the beast roars as it is bloodied.

Grimlock strikes back, but I scorn at such an attempt at a precise strike, and leap over it, slashing again as I come down. He howls once again as he feels death upon him, and I witness an astonishing metamorphosis. Beast begins to play at being Cybertronian. Face unreadable, but stance clear. The Autobot sigil is high irony on this one, for we both know the same thing. This fight will not end until one of us has our fluids pouring out into the sand.  
  


Sword meets sword as energy is grounded out into the rocks around us. I glance around while our sword's dance death's embrace. We are holding our own. Predacon savagery and strength against their armor and firepower.   
  


I pay, however, for this remembrance of lesser duties, for I feel the sting of great warrior power upon me. I look at Grimlock, and realize more than just the shape has changed. Fury was actually contained in that form, being reduced to the meaningless blunt damage of a Dinobot. Now, the sigil mocks me. I face an Autobot now, not a mere beast, and one whose fury nearly matches my own pitch.  
  


I could win this, perhaps, that I must admit now. However, the kill must be clean, and the call goes out. We leap into the air, bodies and minds being reformed into their purest. I see through Predaking's optics now, and I share with four others. Our minds, as always, are united in this. Our enemies will die, and quickly.   
  


Our massive weapon raises up, ignoring the blows rained down by those beneath us. We go for the leader, as I will show him tenfold what he tried to show me. Yet, he grins. What sort of power could he think he possesses? We are death incarnate!  
  


"Me Grimlock must move quick to save Autobots! Me hate it when it easy, but Dinobots combine!"   
  


For the first time, I, and Predaking, are stunned as forms twist below us. This was never spoken of. We must retreat, and plot and plan and wait for the moment. But the others push me forward, and we go towards the hulking form opposite us. Grey of mighty armor and gold of power is now tinged with red of fury. This is a heart near to our own, and plotting falls by the wayside as I find myself falling into embrace. There can be no quarter, no attempt to make light of this development. Our raw fury must prevail. We are Predaking.  
  


"Me Obliterous munch metal!" roars the colossus opposite us. Our first strike is matched with equal speed, and I realize the truth. Lowest common denominator the Dinobots may be, but all gestalts are that, and their tempers and noiseless fury finds itself matched in a body ready for such outbursts of ugly and unnecessary random violence.  
  


The last I see is a fist headed for our eyes, and then I awake, energon flowing frantically, feeling that all my fury has been expelled, and simply sneered at.  
  


What do you think, doctor?  
  


Mindwipe finished listening to the tale, making notes on a pad. "And you've been having these dreams for how long?"  
  


Razorclaw, sitting on a large couch in Mindwipe's cave, replied, "A vorn or so? Ever since.." Minwipe interrupted the leader, who had a flash of annoyance before nodding as the spiritualist spoke.  
  


"Ever since you first saw the Dinobots." Mindwipe made more notes, and then started to pace. "You won that fight, but I wouldn't worry. This is a rather common reaction to the Dinobots. Everyone feels they can beat them, but such a matched set has that faint sense of 'what if'? What if those monstrous idiots are holding back?"  
  


Razorclaw nodded in response. "I see. Well, there is a raid later today. Perhaps we will see the end of them and such.. possibilities." Mindwipe nodded as Razorclaw left, and then triggered his communicator.  
  


"Note to self: Send a recommendation that Razorclaw join Onslaught, Hook, Motormaster, and I's twice-weekly sessions..."  
  


**********  
  


I did this in twenty minutes, and it probably shows, but the title was too good to pass up. I think the Autobots could engender a lot of fear just by casually MENTIONING that... possibility. :) 

I'm not sure when this is set in the universe. Probably after Return of Optimus Prime... The Dinobots do disappear strangely during Headmasters....


End file.
